


It's Only Called Running Away If You Get Caught

by Catminty



Series: Pleasure Is Best Served Forced [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Torture, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, Off-screen Character Death, Rape/Non-con References, Spark Sex, Stalking, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catminty/pseuds/Catminty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave does his best to avoid Tarn. Apparently, Primus hates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Called Running Away If You Get Caught

**Author's Note:**

> What? I said it'd be a while? I did no such thing. You have no proof!
> 
> So, I was just sitting here, minding my own business, then 'BAM!' _Someone_ decided to feed plot ideas to headcannon. I'm staring at you, dynamicallyme!

It was a good orn.

Recent skirmishes against the Autobots had been mostly successful. There was enough energon at Decepticon headquarters to fuel the entire armada for at least a vorn. There had only been two incidents of infighting recently, which is saying a lot for an army hosting thousands upon thousands. Soundwave had an assignment on the far end of the Decepticon territory. The DJD were patrolling on the opposite end of the galaxy...

It was a very good orn.

Soundwave closed the door to his small resting area. He was riding a sparked passenger ship to his assignment location out of choice. Sure, he could have just taken a spacebridge. But no, he argued that it was a waste of resources. There were plenty of transport mechs actively serving for the Decepticon cause and even more looking to. Soundwave was not a mech to deny the transportation class their right to work even if the trip would last for orns and leave him almost unreachable for who knew how long. Really, it was the least he could do for those hardworking Decepticons.

A quick scan of the small cabin revealed no bugs, traps, or other annoyances for the length of the trip. There was a single berth built into the wall and a table and chair next to a tiny window. The door was made to withstand explosions and the interior lock was designed so that even the craftiest hacker couldn't get in. To some it would seem like a prison, but to Soundwave it was a little slice of The Well.

Primus, he needed this break. The Cassetticons were traveling with him as well, but they had their own room. Creator needed alone time to rest and rehabilitate from _him_.

The tapedeck held a servo to his chestplate. Deep, calming ventilations. _He_ wasn't here. Here was safe. Soundwave was here. So Soundwave was safe.

The blue mech shook his helm and laid down on the berth. Recharge sounded wonderful right about then.

~-~-~

Struggling.

_The feeling of being overfilled repeatedly by an unrelenting force._

Panting.

_Toys and torture devices used intermittently. Pain merging with pleasure until indistinguishable._

Whimpering.

_Skill at torture raising to the brink, precipice just out of reach._

Resistance crumbling.

_That voice purring in an audio._

Begging. Pleading.

_That sinister laugh of victory._

Breaking in the best and worst possible ways.

~-~-~

Soundwave sat bolt-upright in his berth. Cooling fans blared a high pitch screech as the reflux still animated vividly within his barely online processor. He steadied himself as best as he could, but the warm _pulse-throb_ behind his interface cover made it hard to focus on his balance.

A flash of light from the tiny porthole illuminated the room. Soundwave's tank dropped at the massive shadow cast against the wall. It couldn't be!

The tapedeck sat still as a statue, waiting for the attack. Slowly his optics readjusted to find no one there. The room was empty.

Still, his valve throbbed.

Soundwave flopped back onto the berth with an arm thrown over his bared faceplate. 'What had he done?'

~-~-~

Night after night, Soundwave woke to memory fluxes of the time spent in Tarn's...possession. He refused to do anything to treat the effects, and the ship was not funded enough to have washracks installed. 

So no cold showers.

Each orn that passed seemed longer than the last. His processor would work itself into a frenzy with the memories stored in his cortex. 

Maybe he had a virus? Soundwave didn't know. But he did know his energon consumption was through the roof. Meaning it was probable, of course. Getting worked up like that every orn had to consume all the energon his systems screamed for. Right?

The orns merged with no real beginning or end. Before he realized it, the ship arrived at its first stopping point.

~-~-~

Why do mini mechs have such pronounced personalities most of the time? It's because they would otherwise be overlooked. This was especially true for the cassette class: They could easily be overlooked as a cleaning drone or wild mechanimal. It was why Rumble and Fenzy acted like pompous little fraggers. That, and they were naturally little glitches. That was Ravage's opinion anyway. He loved his siblings, but... 

Ears tweaked forward and backward as the cybercat observed the mechs that got on and off the ship. Someone had to maintain monitor duty just in case. Especially with the way Soundwave was acting. 

His hiding spot within a storage chest was well planned if he said so himself. Hiding in plain sight made the feline's ego swell. A slight lift to the lid provided by the filled container gave the spy just enough room to peek out at the passerbyers. No one noticed him and no one suspicious got on.

After the flow of passengers came to a halt and the ship started preparing for departure, Ravage slank out of his hidey-hole to go relax. Maybe his siblings were right about him being paranoid?

~-~-~

Chains rattled as a gaggle of mechs made a last-minute entrance. The steward mech wisely didn't ask to see boarding passes. One look at the mechs sent him scrambling to find empty rooms on the ship. 

The chains rattled to a stop. 

"He got pretty far, didn't he?" one of the mech said, laughing, to his fellows.

Another didn't seem to be having as much fun with the situation. "He's not getting off this ship online."

Chains rattled. A low growl bellowed near their peds.

"Does it have his scent?" 

The mech holding the chain crouched down and ran an approving servo over the tense frame. He gave a nod in affirmative. 

"It is time to end this chase," a cultured voice rumbled. "He will die this orn.

~-~-~

It was messy and far from painless for the victims. They made sure to draw out the blue mech's suffering before his spark finally sputtered out of existence.

The smaller ones were dunked in, one by one and still functioning, with the molten blue frame into the sparked slagpot. He rumbled his content as they shrieked and struggled through their demise.

"How much should this lot yield?" asked the willowy purple mech, his Primal Vernacular speech giving his glyphs an airy quality. 

The slagpot tilted his helm as he began running internal calculations. 

::Don't feed his obsession,:: Kaon chided over the team frequency. It was too late. The datapad was already out and Helex's smaller set of servos busied themselves with calculations.

There was a collaborative sigh from Kaon and Tesarus. Leave it to Vos to get the resident perfectionist into a calculation tangent to see how much they could get for refined Cybertronium.

"It doesn't matter," Tesarus gruffed. "We're leaving."

"No," Tarn's immediate denial gave his teammates pause. "Pyanar will be a suitable location to restock our supplies. Take this time to recuperate." With that, the purple mech left.

An awkward silence filled with intermittent clicks and clacks filled the room. "What's up his tailpipe?" Tesarus harrumphed, smaller arms crossed over his concave chestplate.

The red communication officer gave a thoughtful hum. A teasing smirk crossed his faceplate when the others pinged him quizzically.

"Oh well. We will be stuck on this decrepit piece of slag for a while. I wonder how much energon the ship has in his stores..." Vos mused aloud, causing Helex to pause. The gleeful glint to those calculating optics made the seeker snicker. 

It had been a while since their team had enjoyed fresh energon goodies. With the perfectionist attitude came the ability to make amazing delicacies. The largest mech privately prided himself on his culinary prowess, and Vos loved planting the seed to create even though it left Helex utterly consumed for orns on end. Hey, it wasn't like they'd be short on time.

~-~-~

_Ugh_. Tarn trudged through the corridors, entirely uncomfortable. The way that blue mech squirmed and begged for a reprieve he wouldn't receive got him so excited, so charged.

Not to mention painfully hard. His spike pulsed in its casing.

Oh. What Tarn wouldn't do to have his prey at his mercies right then. The next time he trapped that little tapedeck...

Enraged, the hulking Decepticon slammed his fist against the sparked ship's wall. "I want a room," he snarled. "NOW!" The nearest door snapped open instantly. Tarn stalked into the pitch black.

As much as he hated it, it looked like he'd have to take matters into his own servos. Tarn glared down balefully at his bulging interface cover. He hissed sharply as it slid free to release his aching spike. It wasn't his responsibility to take care of this kind of need, but no one could live up to what he was required by this point. 

No one but Soundwave. Soundwave was durable yet supple, weak yet resistant. A growl reverberated through the room as the fierce Decepticon wrapped a servo around his girth and began pumping. He flicked off his optics and remembered all the things he'd done to his little tapedeck, because Soundwave belonged to him. No one else could have him.

Tarn reminisced to the times he pushed the blue mech to his breaking point. How he pushed harder until the trembling form beneath him couldn't make a sound, vocalizer shot to the pits. How he was so exhausted last time that he couldn't even move to fuel himself. Tarn pumped faster as his arousal skyrocketed. That warm, tight valve always sucked him back into its welcoming warmth. A whimpering moan. Oh, and that moan.

Wait.

Tarn onlined his optics and looked to the small berth in the corner. On it lay a the most erotic sight he'd ever laid optics on. Digits disappeared between the soaked thighs of a mech that looked so debauched could barely coordinate any movement. His head was strewn at an angle, but that red visor, bright with shock, fixed on Tarn's frame.

Though a very subtle, there-and-gone flick of optic light showed his subconscious interest in one _very specific_ part of the enormous Decepticon's well-endowed frame. 

Violently red optics bore into the supine form. Tarn stalked closer to the quickly tensing mech. He ghosted a touch along the servo still inserted into that welcoming heat, then took hold of the wrist joint and pushed it further into that slick depth.

Soundwave twitched in absolute shock as his entire servo was slowly worked in his starved valve. There was no way this was real. _There was no way he was here!_ Fire burned in the wrist joint held by the massive servo capable of snapping it with just a squeeze. Soundwave's visor whited out completely. "N-Negative," He shook his head in denial. "Negative!"

The purple mech shushed the tapedeck in a gentle manner. It was quite arousing to see the moisture pooling beneath that blue aft. "Soundwave. You have longed for me," Tarn purred. "I have longed for you, too." He ran the digits of his free servo down Soundwave's exposed cheek. "We must reacquaint ourselves. It has been far too long since your frame has been trapped beneath mine." A quick flick of the wrist and Soundwave's entire servo jammed inside the convulsing channel.

The blue tapedeck to arch sharply with a strangled moan. 

Until that astrosecond, Tarn never believed he would ever see real beauty in his function. How he was wrong. If this was some sort of online reflux, he would kill every single mech on this ship. And then the ship, too. Because he would be that slagging furious.

Slowly, he mounted his prey--that quivering visor fighting to follow his movements--while continuing to fist him with his own appendage.

The servo moving fully in and out of that valve pulled a whimper from those sweet derma. That sight made him harder than even his best vid files ever did. Enough foreplay. Tarn forcefully pulled the servo away, lined up his spike, and took his time thrusting home. He rested his weight on the convulsing frame when fully seated.

Soundwave writhed when he pushed in further, enough to shift them along the berth. The tightness was exquisite in ways even the poet could not articulate.

"Primus," Tarn moaned his bliss. He pulled back slowly, optics locked on Soundwave's terrified faceplates.

Another whimper. Servos scrambled for purchase on his frame in remembrance of what was to come. "Please, negative," a soft plea, sweeter than the finest high grade. Tarn curled his larger frame over the desperate form and thrust slowly. It pulled the most delightful whimper from the resistant frame.

Soon, the digits dug into their purchase and whimpers turned into quiet moans. Tarn's thrusts stayed constant with the occasional snap of hips. The sounds his prey made, the feel of his gripping heat and consuming field--

Something was overwhelming both of them. 

The force stirred up basic functions built into every Cybertronian, a base need that they could not deny. Not in the heat of the moment, not the way their bodies twined together of their own accord. It was even without conscious subroutines that their chests split as one to reveal starving sparks. Tendrils met halfway, forcing jolts and gasps from the polar lovers.

Their sparks touched briefly in experimentation. Oh. Chest plates clashed roughly in a downward crash equally met by an upward thrust. It was as if positive met negative: halves were finally whole.

Then they were kissing, panting, moaning, fragging with both their interface and sparks for everything they were worth.

A large servo canted blue hips up to change the angle. Blunt digits raked down purple backstruts. A bite to a shoulder followed by an aggressive growl. A whimper, then frantic pulsing of spark and field.

They rose up and up, the pinnacle climbing faster the higher they rose. Then there was nothing. The flow of time ceased, and all that existed was pleasure in each other. 

Then, they were falling. A rush of data blew through processors to fast to even comprehend. Crackling electricity licked out from compressed chestplates to curl streaks of fire over the already overheated frames. The spike thrust deep and held, spilling its contents in the furthest reaches of the milking valve. Screams of bliss. Roars of pleasure. Grinding, convulsing, merged frames shaking the whole way. 

They held onto each other for dear life as ecstasy consumed them both, drowning them in darkness.

~-~-~

Soundwave onlined slowly. Every single process lagged in a hazy, blissfully overcharged way. Did the cassettes spike his energon again? It didn't really matter too much. It was a fantastic orn. He stretched languidly underneath the surprisingly heavy blanket. Those vibrations did all sorts of wonders to his tired frame. Wait.

A blanket that purred?

Visor flashing online frantically, the tapedeck keened in distress at the situation he found himself in. Stuck underneath Tarn with his hard-on jammed up where Soundwave personally thought it shouldn't go. Again. At least they were on a soft berth this time.

No wonder he thought he was covered in a blanket. The purple DJD leader sprawled over him completely in a cozy hold. His helm was firmly nested in Soundwave's neck cables. Oh, that happy purr did all sorts of things to make his spark twist. Then an eager pulse alerted him that his spark wasn't alone in the feel goods.

They were still merged!!

Soundwave fidgeted in an attempt to wiggle free. A chuckle reverberated through him and the appendages holding him hostage squeezed harder. Including his spike. Primus, did it just swell?

Either way, Tarn was a happy mech. Eerily happy. Could Tarn be happy when he wasn't on a murderous rampage?

The initial shock and slight paranoia slowly drained energy reserves until the remaining drowsiness left Soundwave feeling exhausted straight down to his struts. Oh well. Might as well recharge. It wasn't like he'd be able to get away anytime soon.

The tapedeck fell into an exhausted recharge while being cuddled by a snuggly executioner.

**Author's Note:**

> Is that (fluff) plot mixed in? Headcannon, what are you doing to me?!
> 
> I made up stuffs for the DJD personalities! (Kinda/sorta/fails) OCD Helex is just too fun. :B
> 
> Edit: Blarg! What the frag came over me last night cycle? That smut is disgraceful. I'm so disappointed in myself! Next time more kinky sparkplay. Yes!


End file.
